Virginia Henley (34 page)

“You presume correctly, Lord Kildare.”

“Then I think I can arrange a voyage to America for you, Bowers. Tim Murphy will be the captain, but I believe you’ll settle for first mate?”

“That sounds most expedient, my lord.”

“Are there any women on this island?” one of the crew asked Danny FitzGerald.

“Christ Almighty, a fortnight’s holiday isn’t enough, ye want jam on it too?”

    
A
t Greystones the priest who looked after the spiritual needs of those who resided there was a FitzGerald, familiarly known as Father Fitz, The entire staff attended Mass every day, then afterward, the elderly priest climbed the gatehouse watchtower to give Shamus communion. The only two people in all of Greystones who never went to the chapel were Sean and Emerald.

When Tara and Nan took it for granted that she would join them for Mass, Emerald decided that it was high time she did go to church. Of course she prayed about her baby every day, but suddenly she knew she would feel better if she did her praying in church and made friends with Father Fitz.

The small chapel was magnificent on the inside. The autumn sun streamed through the stained-glass windows onto the polished oak pews padded with red velvet. The altar cloth was a thing of beauty, heavily embroidered in gold thread, complementing the jewel-encrusted chalices and solid-gold candlesticks that sat upon it.

In contrast, Father Fitz wore a plain black cassock; the only thing colorful about him, his red shiny face wreathed in smiles. He served communion to everyone except Emerald. When he came to her, he fixed her with piercing blue eyes and said, “A word in private.”

Disconcerted, Emerald nodded obediently, anticipating what the priest might say to her. The smell of incense, mingled with candle wax, was not unpleasant; it brought back memories of the times she and her mother had secretly attended church when her father was away.

One by one the staff slipped into the confessional booth,
each emerging after only a minute or two. Nan waited until last. When she came out she looked quite happy. “I feel comforted,” she whispered to Emerald. “Father Fitz is so understanding. Shall I wait for you?”

“No, go and have your breakfast. This is my first time, it may take a while.”

The chapel was now completely empty, and Emerald was uncertain about what to do. Should she go into the confessional booth or wait for Father Fitz to come to her? She closed her eyes and said a prayer for Sean. She had been racked with worry for his safety ever since he had sailed off in the gale. The crashing sea and lashing wind had made it impossible for her to sleep since he left. She opened her eyes as an Irish voice intoned, “Emerald Montague.” He was standing directly in front of her.

Though she hated to be called by that name, she did not contradict him. “Yes, Father. I know I should have come before this,” she said contritely, “but—but at least Em here now.”

“Why are you here, Emerald Montague?” he demanded, his red face no longer wreathed in smiles.

“I—I have so many prayers, and I would like your blessing. I came to pray for Sean’s safety and to pray for my—” Something in Father Fitz’s face prevented her from uttering the word
baby.

“Sean O’Toole has not set foot in God’s House since he returned to Ireland. His soul is blackened with sin, yet he makes no confession, shows no contrition,” he accused.

Compassion and understanding for the man she loved rose up in her. “You surely must know he was imprisoned for five years in unspeakable conditions. The sins were committed
against
him, not
by
him.”

“He is guilty of committing deadly sins and breaking God’s commandments every day of his life. Hate, wrath, pride, lust, consume him! His god has become vengeance,
and in order to achieve it he will do anything—lie, steal, kill, or commit adultery. You would do well to use your influence to turn him back to God so he may cleanse his soul and receive absolution.”

“I will try, Father,” she said in a tight voice, thankful that she had not mentioned the child.

His eyes burned into her. “Are you ready to go and sin no more?”

“Go?” she echoed, terrified of his meaning.

“You must return to your husband, Emerald Montague. You are an adulteress!”

Her flaming cheeks blanched as the blood drained from her face and she turned icy cold.

“Are you ready to confess your sins and ask God’s pardon?”

“I—I confess that I love Sean O’Toole, and if that is wrong, I ask God’s pardon.”

“Do not mock God, woman! Unless you are ready to end your adulterous relationship and return to your husband, you can neither ask forgiveness nor receive absolution.”

“I—I am not Catholic,” she said distractedly.

“Adultery is a venal sin in any religion, in any country!”

He turned from her then, and Emerald felt anger well up inside her and boil over. “You are guilty of both wrath and pride, to say nothing of self-righteousness, and if that is not considered one of your stupid sins, it ought to be!” she cried.

She hurried out of the church and back to Greystones. Avoiding everyone, she went straight up to the bedchamber she shared with Sean. She stared at the wide bed, feeling riven with guilt. The priest had called her an adulteress, and how could she deny it? In his eyes she was committing a deadly sin. What about God’s eyes? she wondered wretchedly. She rationalized that it would be a greater sin to sleep in Jack Raymond’s bed without love than to sleep in Sean
O’Toole’s. Emerald walked to the window, staring out to sea with haunted eyes. “Come home … come home…. I need you.”

    
S
ean O’Toole felt a great deal of satisfaction over all he had accomplished. Maynooth was richer by five hundred horses, paid for by William Montague, and his enemy’s merchant shipping line was now reduced to four vessels.

As Sean had planned, he sailed down the Irish coast to the seaport where Emerald’s mother lived. As the
Sulphur
dropped anchor in the Bay of Wicklow, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He had known of Amber FitzGerald Montague’s whereabouts as soon as he returned to Ireland. Mr. Burke told Sean all about her arrival the day before they buried his grandfather, and how Shamus had provided the money she used to set herself up in business.

Sean had hated her for years because she was a Montague and for the part she had played in Joseph’s destruction, but he had begun to realize that Emerald loved her mother deeply and longed to be reunited with her. He decided to see the woman for himself; talk to her, question her. Only then would he make the decision about inviting her to Greystones. After what Montague did to her, she must hate the man almost as much as Sean did himself. Perhaps she would make a better ally than enemy. Perhaps he could use her, too.

Sean left his crew aboard and disembarked his ship. He walked past the boardinghouses and grog shops that lined the docks and made his way to the more affluent end of town. He went up the steps of an elegant stone house at the end of a long street and lifted the heavy brass door knocker. He was shown into a business office by a maid in a starched cap and asked to wait.

Amber FitzGerald entered her office briskly, then her footsteps faltered as she came face to face with the gentleman
who was waiting to see her. She was shrewdly knowledgeable about men, usually able to size them up in a glance, but this one was different. He had the most arresting face she had ever seen, as well as the proudest carriage, and darkest eyes.

It was impossible to tell his age. Though not advanced in years, there was nothing youthful about him. Dressed dramatically in black, he was, she saw immediately, a figure of authority. He looked like a man who would break the rules if it suited his own purpose; he looked dangerous.

Amber knew she had never laid eyes on him before and yet there was a vaguely familiar quality about him, as if she should have been able to guess his identity immediately.

    
S
ean O’Toole found it difficult to believe that the ravishing young woman before him could be old enough to be Emerald’s mother. He looked more closely and saw the fine lines about her eyes and mouth. They did not diminish her attractiveness; rather they added to her allure, hinting at worldly experience.

Her gray silk gown was tastefully elegant and understated, yet it was a clever foil for her blazing hair. He watched her mouth curve into an easy smile, expressing complete confidence that she could handle any man breathing. Joseph’s words stole to him from the past:
If you could see her, you’d understand.
And now he did understand. Perfectly. She was feminine down to her fingertips; exactly like Emerald, except for her coloring.

“I am Sean O’Toole.”

Amber’s eyes widened. How could this possibly be the young Irish Prince her little girl had fallen in love with? He had a stark male beauty an older woman of vast experience might appreciate, but how could such satanic looks appeal to a child? Looking at him brought all Joseph’s essence
rushing back to her, making her gasp at the bittersweet memories.

“Please … sit down.” Her hand indicated an elegant gilt chair. She poured him Irish whisky and a small glass of dry sherry for herself, then she sat in the chair opposite his, rather than placing the barrier of her desk between them.

“I know what he did to me, and I have learned what he did to Joseph, but I can only imagine what he did to you.”

“No”—he slowly shook his head—“I don’t believe you can, Amber.”

As he spoke, she watched his face, his eyes, and felt some measure of his pain. She realized he was greatly altered both on the inside and on the outside. “You survived.”

Again, he slowly shook his head. “Not wholly. Much of me died.” Why was he telling her these things? Perhaps because she was a man’s woman, easy to talk to, and she, too, had suffered and survived, but not wholly. “The part of me that survived lives for revenge.”

“I understand that concept. It almost consumed me, until I learned to set it aside until the moment of reckoning arrives. All things come at their appointed time.”

Sean sipped his whisky, rolling it about his tongue, savoring it. “That is a platitude that has helped you survive. I am too impatient to await the sands of time. The first thing that died in me was my faith in God. I replaced it with faith in myself.”

“Perhaps it is simply pride. When we are forced to do degrading things, the heart swells with hatred and pride.”

“I have no heart, no conscience, no fear, no love, no pity, no shame.”

“If most of your emotions are dead, will you be capable of enjoying your revenge when you take it?”

“Passionately; I am quite capable of hatred. I am well along the road of revenge. These days I simply think of it as justice.”

Amber smiled. “We are so alike.” She knew he was here for a purpose and since he had only one purpose in life, he meant to use her. Well, let him try. She had learned to turn the tables on men. Now it was
she
who used
them.

“What do you know of your children?”

Amber’s heart lurched, then stopped for a moment. Dear God, how vulnerable she became at the mere mention of them. “I know nothing, save the fact that they are children no longer.” She could not conceal the longing in her eyes; she hungered for news of them.

“Your daughter is wed to Jack Raymond.”

Amber shot to her feet, her hand clutching her breast. “That whoreson married my precious Emerald to his brother’s bastard? I’ll kill him!”

“At the present time she lives with me at Castle Lies.”

Relief washed over her. Emerald had loved Sean O’Toole since she was a child. Amber’s relief was short-lived. Had he not just told her he could not love? Had he not referred to Greystones as “Castle Lies”? Sean O’Toole had an agenda; he would use anything and anyone to accomplish it. He held her daughter in the palm of his hand. What about her son? She looked at Sean’s hands encased in black leather, and she shuddered.

“What of Johnny?”

“He is far shrewder than his father ever dreamed. We are allies, just as William and Shamus once were.”

“No good ever came from a FitzGerald-Montague alliance,” she said bluntly.

“I do not seek
good.
I have the means to ruin Montague financially and to utterly destroy his reputation, but I shan’t be satisfied until I have heaped humiliation upon Montague and Raymond in the eyes of the world.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “I have such a weapon in my hands.” He veiled the hatred in his eyes and turned to the reason that
had brought him. “Amber, will you come to Greystones, for a visit with Emerald?”

She paced to the desk and back, wondering if Emerald would ever forgive her. It didn’t matter. She would sell her soul for a chance to be with her daughter again.
Damn you, Sean O’Toole, you knew when you came here what my answer would be.

Amber opened her mouth, then shut it again and paced to the desk one more time. She turned to face him. “I will come if you give me your word about something.”

“Your secret is safe with me,
madam.
I will not tell Emerald that you own a brothel.”